


Call Off Your Ghost

by Mogseltof



Series: The Ethics of Design and Manufacture [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Drunk Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Human AU, Humanformers, Ladyformers, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 00:50:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17694419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mogseltof/pseuds/Mogseltof
Summary: Inspired by the Dessa song of the same name“I thought you wouldn’t take me to bed while I was thinking of another woman?”Wheeljack unzipped the skirt and tugged it over Starscream’s hips and down her legs, face inscrutable in the dark of the bedroom. “You’re not the only woman in the world who’s had a bad break up,” she said, far too gently, and Starscream lashed out with her foot, aiming at Wheeljack’shead.





	Call Off Your Ghost

The tiles were cold under her bare legs, and the taste of vodka strong on her tongue and throat, almost activating her gag reflex, but Starscream picked up the glass and drained the rest of it with a grimace, swallowing down hard against the feeling. She stared blankly at the kitchen cabinet across from her, modern, black doors as clean as the woman she paid could make them. The music throbbed through her body, the same song on loop over and over. She was going to get another noise complaint from her neighbours, but it was difficult to care. 

This was pathetic. Drinking alone on her kitchen floor -- she’d even run out of gin, and the wherewithal to bother mixing her drinks with anything. It was faster to numb the feelings and memories without anything to dilute the alcohol anyway, she reasoned, picking up the bottle of vodka and pouring more into her glass, hissing a curse as some splashed over her hand and onto the floor. 

“ _ We lived, too long, too close, so call off your ghost…. _ ” Dessa’s voice crooned through the apartment, and Starscream was suddenly furious, with herself, with Megatron, with  _ everything _ . She raised her arm and hurled the glass across the room. It smashed against the clean black door of her cabinets, vodka dripping down the smooth panels, and Starscream pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes hard, letting out a frustrated scream. 

The song fell silent, the last few seconds as it ended and began again, and there was the sound of her lock tumbling and the door swinging open. 

Starscream didn’t bother looking up; she hadn’t given anyone a key. “Stop picking my lock,” she said bitterly, rubbing her eyes. 

The music quieted by degrees, and there was the sound of footsteps crossing the polished tiles accompanied by a quiet sigh as Wheeljack came around the kitchen counter, presumably seeing the carnage. “Stop drinking alone,” she said, glass crunching under her sensible shoes. 

Warmth pressed against Starscream’s arm with the folds of a blouse, and Starscream pulled her hands away, turning her head to scowl at Wheeljack, who was picking up the vodka and taking a swig directly from the bottle. “Go away.”

“Megatron or Skyfire?” asked Wheeljack bluntly instead of acknowledging the directive, holding the bottle out like an offering. 

“None of your business,” Starscream snapped, taking the vodka back off her and drinking from it, leaving a smear of red lipstick over the mouth of the bottle. 

Wheeljack had the audacity to smile at that, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards where her scar was, and  _ damnit _ Starscream was  _ clearly _ drunk because right now she looked too attractive for her own good. “We keep sleeping together, Starscream, I think that makes it a little bit my business.”

“Do you just.” Starscream tried to sneer, but her upper lip kept quivering, unable to hold it with the alcohol in her system. 

“Just a little,” said Wheeljack, and the bitch had an undercurrent of laughter in her voice. Starscream  _ hated  _ her sometimes. Most of the time. Sometimes. 

She gave up and raised the bottle to her lips, taking three more large gulps of the vodka. She couldn’t taste it anymore, which was dangerous, and her head spun as she swallowed, which was even worse. 

Calloused fingers covered her own, gently tugging the bottle out of her unresisting hands, and Starscream closed her eyes, letting her head fall back against the cabinet, feeling the pressure mounting high in her throat and behind her eyes, spinning in the darkness. 

“Okay, when it’s Skyfire you’re moping about there’s usually more crying,” mused Wheeljack, her voice cutting through the music that was still sending chills down Starscream’s spine and grounding her, tying her back to reality. Unfortunate. “So I’m gonna assume you’re getting yourself worked up over Megatron.”

Starscream opened her eyes and blinked at the ceiling, before rolling her ear to her shoulder and sending Wheeljack her best chilly glare. 

Unfairly, Wheeljack seemed utterly unperturbed, watching her with a single eyebrow raised. “You know, there are better ways of coping with things than giving yourself alcohol poisoning on your kitchen floor at eleven o’clock at night.”

Starscream had to shut her up. She pushed herself up off the floor onto her knees and swung one over Wheeljack’s lap with a sneer, her skirt riding up her thighs and digging into her skin through her stockings. She landed heavily on the meat of Wheeljack’s thighs and curled her hands in the front of Wheeljack’s crumpled blouse before leaning in and smashing their lips together, biting her lower lip hard. 

With her eyes closed, she could almost believe it was Megatron she was tasting through the vodka and saliva, a neat charcoal jacket she had her hands curled in, the same ones she’d taken so much delight in ruining with her manicure. She moaned against Wheeljack’s mouth, remembering torn skirts and bruises the shape of fingertips around her hips. She flicked her tongue against Wheeljack’s mouth, searching for the feel of scars under her tongue with the taste of sweat, knowing Wheeljack’s own was practically indistinguishable -- 

Wheeljack’s lips remained stubbornly closed, unmoving, and her hands came up to Starscream’s shoulders, gently, but firmly, pushing her back. 

Starscream recoiled, scowling, glaring at Wheeljack, who was calmly reaching up to wipe at the lipstick Starscream had smeared over her lips in her drunken kiss. “What are you doing?” snapped Starscream, agitated, “Don’t you want to fuck me?” and wow, that phrasing was far more plaintive than anything coming from her lips had any right to be. 

Wheeljack huffed a quiet laugh. “Not while you’re trying to kill yourself with vodka as a way of getting over your ex.”

“She is  _ not _ my ex! We  _ never _ dated!” said Starscream vehemently, gripping the countertop above her head and pulling herself upright on unsteady feet. 

“In the same way you and I aren’t dating?” asked Wheeljack, looking up at her, expression carefully blank. 

Starscream sneered at her again and didn’t deign to respond, bending at the waist to snatch the vodka back and turning to stalk over to the other counter. She’d barely taken two steps when there was an arm around her waist, jerking her back. “Let go of me!” she screeched, pushing furiously against the iron grip, stocking-clad feet sliding against the smooth tiles. “Make up your  _ mind _ !”

“Starscream, there’s smashed glass everywhere and you’re not wearing any shoes,” said Wheeljack patiently, plucking the bottle out of her hands and depositing it with the clink of glass against marble countertop. “And you know what? I think you’ve had enough to drink.”

“Fuck you!” snapped Starscream, wriggling ineffectively against Wheeljack as she was steered out of the kitchen and down the hall towards her bedroom, the music and light fading as they walked away. Wheeljack pushed the door open and the cool air from the open window hit them as she guided Starscream over to her still unmade bed, pushing her back onto the pillows and rolling her onto her side to unhook her skirt. “I thought you wouldn’t take me to bed while I was thinking of another woman?”

Wheeljack unzipped the skirt and tugged it over Starscream’s hips and down her legs, face inscrutable in the dark of the bedroom. “You’re not the only woman in the world who’s had a bad break up,” she said, far too gently, and Starscream lashed out with her foot, aiming at Wheeljack’s  _ head _ . 

Wheeljack caught it by the ankle and placed it back down on the bedsheets, tossing the skirt aside before smoothing her hands over Starscream’s thighs and finding the cuffs over her stockings, carefully pulling them down so as not to ladder them. Her fingers were like fire on Starscream’s too sensitive skin, and she shifted on the bed, sighing happily. Wheeljack’s fingers were on her blouse next, undoing the buttons by feel in the dark, and Starscream pushed up into her touch, shivering when the fabric fell away, leaving her bare stomach exposed to the night air. 

Wheeljack didn’t go for her underwear next, instead kicking off her own shoes and tugging a blanket over Starscream, wrapping an arm around her as she lay down on the bed. “What are you doing?” demanded Starscream, trying to sit up. 

“Good night, Starscream,” said Wheeljack patiently, a thread of amusement carrying through her voice. 

“If you’re not going to fuck me I at least want a cigarette,” said Starscream snippily, trying to push herself out of bed. 

Wheeljack’s arm tightened around her middle, winching her backwards so that she was pressed against Wheeljack’s front. “Go to sleep, Starscream. Stop trying to kill yourself like you’re a teenager exposed to all the world’s vices for the first time.”

“Calling me a teenager is rich coming from a woman who still dyes her hair  _ blue _ ,” snapped Starscream, subsiding against her. 

Wheeljack laughed quietly, a low, rumbling noise in her chest that vibrated through Starscream’s back. “Only the undercut parts,” she said, sounding pleased. 

“The fact that you even  _ have _ an undercut speaks for itself.”

“I’m an engineer, nobody cares what my hair looks like. Good  _ night _ , Starscream.”

Starscream huffed and rolled over to face Wheeljack, scowling. She raised her hand and gripped Wheeljack’s chin, guiding her face down to meet Starscream’s own, and kissed her firmly. Wheeljack’s lips moved slowly against her own, warm and chapped where she bit at the skin. Starscream pulled her head back after a long few moments, relishing in something  _ finally _ going her way that night. “ _ I _ care what your hair looks like.”

Wheeljack laughed again, and kissed her forehead instead of responding. 

**Author's Note:**

> Required listening: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B6A8T6qWPBo
> 
> In large part inspired by the "you want the world/so what's it worth" series by lesbianbean and "Time, As A Symptom" by PeopleCoveredInFish (both of which are well worth the read), because after I read those fics my brain kept coming up with lesbian Starscream scenarios and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote this scene. It was meant to be a drabble but it got a touch out of hand. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
